


across from him and three houses to the left

by isleofdreams



Series: haha dreamteam highschool au go brr [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, High School, Horror, M/M, Making Out, Murder, Open to Interpretation, Rituals, Slow Dancing, no beta we die lik eme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28799163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isleofdreams/pseuds/isleofdreams
Summary: Summoning a ghost from a shitty ritual that Sapnap has read on Wikipedia is the last thing that Dream has expected.But when a boy with brown hair and cold touch appears in front of him, he doesn't know what to do next.(in which Dream summons a ghost, in a haunted mansion across from him and three houses to the left)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: haha dreamteam highschool au go brr [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812709
Comments: 121
Kudos: 514





	across from him and three houses to the left

**Author's Note:**

> hi!
> 
> obligatory: this work is in no way representative of the dream team. if theyre uncomfortable in being written in such ways, this will be taken down immediately. respect them, please. 
> 
> so, i participated in this 24h challenge where im given a prompt and i have to write it in 24h. guess who only has an hour of sleep lol
> 
> mandatory apology for bad writing, especially towards the end. im tired, okay
> 
> PROMPT: character A summons character B, it can either evolve into a cute friendship or a romantic relationship (from lana29 (i dont want to expose their discord tag) of the writta block discord!)
> 
> enjoy!

Dream doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do when he sees a ghost appear in front of him.

Frankly, he hasn’t expected the ritual to work. Having read it off of a shitty, suspicious Wikipedia page, with no external links whatsoever or proof that it has been successful, Sapnap has dared the other to conduct the ritual, brown eyes glimmering with curiosity and glee.

“Why don’t _you_ do it yourself, huh?” Dream retorts, rolling his eyes as he packs up his bag, ready to leave the campus. Sapnap’s standing right beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looks at Dream expectedly. “You know everything about it, don’t you?”

“You owe me one,” Sapnap reminds him. “For not telling the entire school that you piss-”

Dream slaps a hand over Sapnap’s mouth before he can continue, the other letting out a loud laugh. A wet tongue presses against Dream’s palm.

“What the fuck!” Pulling away almost immediately, Dream grimaces at the thought of Sapnap’s saliva on his hand and attempts to wipe it on Sapnap’s hoodie. “You’re so fucking disgusting.”

Sapnap only laughs. “So, pissbaby, you’re a coward now huh?” Following Dream, they leave the classroom and squeeze into the crowded hallway as Sapnap holds onto the strap of Dream’s backpack. “Not only did you piss your bed when you’re fourteen, but you also-”

“Fine!”

A few heads turn at Dream’s sudden outburst, confused, though the latter ignores them as he continues walking. He can feel Sapnap’s grin growing as they exit the school, the cool air hitting them in the face as they fetch their bicycles from the side of the gate. 

“So, when are you going to do it?”

Dream focuses on unlocking his bike, trying to insert the key into the lock. It takes him a few tries, but eventually, he succeeds. Trying to shake Sapnap off, he stands up, ready to leave-

Only to see Sapnap already ready, faster than him.

An audible groan escapes his lips while Sapnap laughs. 

“When are you-”

“I’ll tell you once I’m done.”

Sapnap nods. 

The breeze that caresses Dream’s face feels cold.

* * *

There’s a haunted house situated near Dream’s home, across from him and three houses to the left.

Occasionally, there’d be some brave souls that try to wander in, with shaky hands and even shakier torchlights, backpacks filled with a picnic mat and a few snacks as they enter the building. And on those occasions, Dream (and if he’s there, Sapnap) would watch them, counting the minutes that they’d be in there.

The longest someone has lasted is an entire hour.

Frankly, Dream doesn’t understand what’s so scary about it. Sure, he’d heard rumours about it. Someone once told him that a bloody murder, which has taken a mother and daughter’s lives, had occurred in that house; others told him that someone had hung themselves on the second floor in the master bedroom, and they hadn’t been discovered until his body is rotten and foul. 

Frankly, Dream believes they’re all bullshit, lies to evoke fear and terror in everyone, a horror story that’s carelessly woven into tales and midnight stories to keep people up at night. There are stories about how people have seen shadows in the second window when it’s early afternoon, and the soft wails of a little girl dead in the night when the owls come out and the moon hangs high in the sky. 

Dream has never experienced those, and until he has, he’s never going to believe it.

So when he packs his bag (seven candles, a lighter, some salt, some bread as snacks and a blanket), he doesn’t understand why he feels the sense of trepidation in his heart grow. Perhaps it’s the way he has never done this alone before: he and Sapnap had explored the house a few times during midday, but they had never gone up to the second floor before since slight creaks and howling wind had Sapnap screaming and running out of the house. Or perhaps it’s the way Dream had never conducted a _ritual_ before, much less one that supposedly summons a ghost.

He swallows, and snaps his bag shut. He had texted Sapnap earlier about his plans and lied to his parents’ face about a sleepover at his best friend’s house, and they had bought it with a relieved smile.

He had squashed the guilt that’s rising from his stomach and closed his bedroom door shut.

(Well, he supposes that he isn’t really lying about it, since he is going to go to Sapnap’s afterwards. That doesn’t stop the bitter taste from rising in his throat, though.)

Sneaking past the living room, he unlocks the front door, and although he has gotten permission from his parents he still can’t help but feel a sense of dread as he slides the key into the hole. Of course, it had not been his first time lying, but he hates how bitterness rests on his tongue as something _squeezes_ his heart, and all he can think of is how he has violated his parents’ trusts and-

He’s in front of the mansion before he knows it.

The metal gates creak loudly when Dream pushes against it, resisting against the blond before reluctantly giving way. The rust has made home in the small crevices, and Dream wipes his hand on the surface of his jeans before he moves forward, gulping as he looks up at the mansion.

What used to be white walls have been dirtied and stained over the years, mold and fungus growing and painting it grey and black as they climb in between cracks. Shattered glass lay at the foot of broken, foggy windows, but Dream can still make out the shape of a sofa as he points his flashlight at the window closest to him. Overgrown plants and creepers crawl across the pavement, soda cans and various litter decorating the front lawn as white (or grey, he supposes, from how dirty they are) picket fences line themselves up wonkily in a poor attempt to protect the house.

Dream hates how the house seems to be looking down at him, so he suppresses a shiver that runs down his spine and walks to the front door. 

The wooden floorboard groans underneath Dream as he steps up to the porch, coming face to face with a wooden door. The golden doorknob is splattered with rust, and splinters are threatening to pierce his fingers, but Dream twists it. With a squeal, the door reveals the interior of the house.

He stands, unsure as he glances into the house with shaky hands. He ignores how the wind seems to grow much colder than before as he hugs his jacket tighter around himself, ignores the way everything has suddenly turned so silent and _quiet_ that he’s hyper aware of his ragged breathing, of the way his fingers seem to shake and become numb as every second passes. He ignores the way his heart is pounding furiously against his chest, threatening to escape the prison that is his ribcage and he thinks that if he doesn’t enter the house right now, he might just chicken out and never go back ever again.

Before he can overthink the situation, Dream forces his feet to move and takes a step into the house.

The floor seems to dip slightly as he places pressure on it, scanning the room with his flashlight as his eyes try to adjust to the change in lighting. Squinting, he can make out a couch sitting at the corner, its cushions and sheets all worn out as cotton filling peeks from the pillows. A broken table that’s missing a leg is placed at the center of what he assumes is the living room, and in front of it is a cabinet that looks like it can fit a television set.

Frowning, Dream kicks away a few empty cans of beer, flinching when the noises echo too loudly for his liking. A few marble counters are placed on the left of him, a flimsy rod trying to hold up a torn up curtain, trying to preserve what remaining dignity the house holds. 

Well, he supposes the thought is what counts.

Cautiously, he approaches the staircase, his grip on his backpack strap tightening a little as he puts a foot on the first step to test the waters. Other than a slight creak, it seems to be safe, but Dream still decides to hold onto the railings, feeling his soul deteriorate slightly when he feels something wet. 

With quick and (hopefully) light footsteps, he ascends to the second floor, ignoring the way his heart almost jumps out of his throat when one of the planks underneath him snaps a little. He scurries up quickly, feeling relieved when he makes it up to solid ground.

He _jumps_ when he feels something furry and hairy run past his feet, brushing against his ankle, a scream lodged between his throat as the flashlight in his hand snaps towards the direction that the… _thing_ had escaped to. Unfortunately, it has blended in with the shadows before Dream can see what it is.

He tries to convince himself that it’s a rat and moves on.

The wooden floor is splintered, white walls splashed with water and leakages from roofs due to the lack of maintenance. Patches of wet blotch are seen where the lamps hang, the remains of a hallway that used to fill with laughter and happiness stored in the form of broken bulbs and walls filled with graffiti. 

He stands in front of the first door he sees. Hesitantly, he pushes it open.

A broken bed frame sits in the middle of the room, drapes filled with holes surrounding the remains of it as an open window illuminates the room. Leaves dance at the foot of the bed to a rhythm that only the wind knows, and the curtains sing softly to its hymn. A door that’s left ajar reveals a bathroom with shattered toilet lids and a mirror with vulgarities splattered across it.

He shuts the door quietly. It’d be rude to disturb their dance.

He moves on to the room adjacent to the master bedroom, the door pushing against his will before it caves in, showing him an almost empty room. A table is pushed against a wall, a crooked and empty picture frame hanging by a nail.

A door slams shut in the distance. 

Placing his bag down on a dry spot, he assesses the room carefully. It’s one of the driest places he has seen in this mansion surprisingly, and it’s spacious. All he has to do is to remove a few planks and it’d be the perfect spot for the ritual.

The ritual. 

Something rustles from outside the window, the leaves of trees creating a haunting symphony as Dream clears out the planks, placing them on the table while an owl hoots in an attempt to join the choir. There’s something unsettling and _wrong_ about how he’s going to summon a ghost in a haunted house, about how he’s going to cross the line between the alive and the dead and how he’s playing with something he shouldn’t, something that’s more powerful than him.

He throws the thoughts out of the window and apologises silently to the trees. 

After testing the floorboards (which he deems sturdy enough), he starts unpacking the contents in his bag. Taking out the salt, he kneels and sprinkles it so that it makes a shape that resembles a star in a circle. Then, he takes out the candles and arranges them, hands shakily trying to place them at the right positions that Sapnap has forced him to remember.

Damn the no phone rule.

He stands up and examines his handiwork. The star is slightly out of proportion, and his circle almost resembles an oval from how wide he has drawn it, but other than that, he deems it worthy enough to try and summon a ghost. 

He curses out Sapnap in his head as he flicks the lighter on, the flame dancing in the breeze. The moon watches as he lights up the candles carefully, making sure that he doesn’t accidentally singe his finger as he walks around, the weak source of light illuminating the room. Ghostly shadows appear and dance alongside the flame, an unintended masquerade ball where only the dead can join.

When he’s done, Dream slides the lighter into his pocket and stands in the middle of the star. With shaky hands and an even shakier voice, he closes his eyes. Taking in a deep breath, he starts to recite the chant. 

“Uh- Amen?”

The room is dead silent. 

That’s literally the fucking chant. 

He doesn’t realise how stupid he sounds until the word leaves his mouth, the hesitant in his tone making the situation even worse. Here he is, at about ten at night, trying to summon a ghost with his confusion and stupid Wikipedia instructions.

It’s laughable. Pathetic and laughable.

Dream grimaces at the sad sight of himself. After he had (or at least _tried_ to) summoned a ghost, he had planned to stay the night at Sapnap’s probably trying to recount the tale of him failing the ritual and Sapnap giving him a disappointed sigh.

_It’s probably your confidence_ , a voice in his head says. _Try it again._

And as foolish as it sounds, he obeys its command.

“Ame-”

“Oh, would you please shut the fuck up.”

The voice startles him, causing him to yelp and stumble, messing up the salt drawing at his feet as he scrambles to his bag in a hurry. Picking up his torchlight, his eyes scan the room, shaken up and terrified.

What in the absolute _fuck_ was that?

As he glances around, he catches no sight of the source of the voice, and he convinces himself that he’s reached the point of insanity that he’s hallucinating voices. The crickets seem to laugh at his slip-up, while his shadow continues dancing on the wall with the flicker of candlelights.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, going back to the ruined ritual as he tries to push the salt back to their previous formation, fingers shaking and eyes darting around as he hurries back into the circle. His heart is pounding, and he’s sure that there’s a layer of sweat covering his forehead and dampening his fringe but he doesn’t care.

He’s just going to try one last time, and-

“Don’t.” 

Dream _knows_ he’s heard it. There’s no way he’s making things up again: it’s the same voice from the same person, and he’d be _damned_ if he’s wrong. 

“This is so badly done, please just stop it.”

It’s coming from behind him, and his breath hitches as he feels icy sensations running down the back of his arm and his neck. Gripping the bottom of his hoodie tightly, he tries to push back the desperate tears that are forming at the corner of his eyes and ignores the way his stomach turns at the thought of seeing a _ghost_. A ghost, who’s probably all bloodied and bruised from their traumatic experiences, a spirit that can’t rest peacefully due to unfulfilled duties on Earth. A ghost, who’s probably going to possess him and kill him and-

“Hello?” 

And it’s just a boy.

Dream stares, mouth wide open as confusion fills him. Who is this guy standing right in front of him? 

“Uhh… why are you staring at me like that?”

“You’re glowing.” Somehow, in the midst of his brain short circuiting, he has found words and have pieced them together successfully. “You’re glowing. How the fuck are you glowing?”

The boy seems to stare back. “What do you mean ‘you're glowing’? Of course I am, I’m literally dead.”

All of sudden, it clicks in his head. “You’re-”

“A ghost, yes.”

But there’s something _off_ about the ghost in front of him, something that just doesn’t sit right in Dream’s stomach as he examines the translucent figure in front of him. For starters, there aren’t any gorey injuries littering his body, and despite the comfort that there’s a lack of protruding bones and smeared blood, Dream can’t help but feel even more _restless_ at that thought.

And the boy looks dangerously close to his age too. With brown hair that’s swept carelessly to the side in a lazy fashion, to the way his eyes seem to be glimmering with youth, there’s no way he’s older than Dream. If it isn’t for the fact that the other is practically a glow stick in the dark, Dream might have mistaken him for another student in his school.

But here he is, overshadowing the candles that Dream had carefully lit up, hands crossed in front of his chest as the corner of his mouth turns down into a scowl. 

“Look, I know I’m dead, okay? You don’t have to _gawk_ at me like that. It’s kind of rude, and I’d appreciate it if you-”

“You have an accent.”

_“What?”_

And Dream doesn’t know why he’s talking to someone who’s supposed to be _dead_ , but here he is, letting words spill out of his mouth without any restriction, and he’s sure that when he wakes up the next morning, nothing has ever happened. “You pronounce ‘what’ differently, and you kind of round your words a little. I dunno, I just assumed.”

There seems to be a slight glint in the other boy’s eyes, but the scowl is still present on his face. “Huh. You’re different.”

“Huh?”

“In a good way.” The ghost circles Dream, eyes trailing up and down his body. Dream doesn’t know why but he feels vulnerable at that moment, as if the spirit can see the secrets buried deep in his heart, confessions that’ll cause him to die inside at the back of his mind, and he _hates_ it. 

But he doesn’t deny the fire that starts in his chest when the ghost whispers, “You’re a good kind of different.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be strangling me right now?” Dream asks, gaze still lingering on the faint outline of the boy and the way his skin is translucent and that Dream can make out the frames of the window behind him. “Like, y’know? Do ghost stuff? Possess me?”

A guffaw fills in the empty room. “You? I wouldn’t possess you for shit, thank you very much.”

“Hey!”

There’s something special, and Dream doesn’t even realise he has stepped closer to the other until he feels cold air on his skin once again, goosebumps rising at the sudden dip in temperature.

“Who are you? And why are you here?”

Dream hates how he succumbs so quickly to the other boy’s control, but how can you not when you’re dealing with someone else more powerful than you? “I’m Dream. And- how about you? Who are you?”

He seems hesitant in giving Dream his name, but then caves in at the last second, eyes flickering with doubt as he puts a hand out to formally greet the other. “I’m George, your fellow neigbourhood ghost. Nice to meet you.”

And when their fingers brush against each other, the world of the living clashes with the dead.

For a moment, it almost creates something beautiful.

* * *

A quick Google search of the name _George_ and his street name unfortunately, shows nothing.

Dream is growing frustrated, because _surely, there must be something, some article or images about the boy with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes_ but all that he can gather is nothing. There is no hit news of a boy who has gotten killed in a brutal murder or a family tragedy, nor are there breaking news about a boy who has turned into a cold-blooded killer.

There’s literally nothing. 

So who actually is George? Who’s the boy with a tight-lipped smile, with an accent that’s definitely not native from Florida? Who’s the boy with messily swept brown hair and eyes that somehow twinkle in the dark, with cold touches and even colder gazes that seem to pull Dream in? Who’s the boy who’s supposedly dead, in a house across of his three houses to the left?

With a frustrated sigh, he closes the tab.

There’s something mesmerising about George, something that keeps pulling Dream back into his world. Maybe it’s the way he’s always on guard, eyes flickering here and there, or maybe it’s the way his fingers never seemed to stop drumming against his forearm, a habit that the ghost has never shook away.

So when George chases him out of the house, there’s something else buzzing in the air, something that tempts Dream to come back again, something welcoming and warm and alive.

(Something that is all of what George isn’t)

Soon, Dream comes face to face with a mahogany door. Texting Sapnap to unlock it, he lets a small sigh slip past his lips as he rests his forehead against the pillar, trying to catch a quick wink before he deals with Sapnap’s hype energy.

“Dream!” The other yells despite it being three in the morning, and pulls Dream into a hug and into his home before closing the door shut behind the both of them. “How was it? Did it work?”

And Dream thinks back to (maybe) pretty smiles and (maybe) pretty lips and (maybe) pretty eyes that say _don’t tell this to anyone, please. It’ll be our secret_ and makes a decision.

Pushing past Sapnap, Dream storms up to Sapnap’s room. “The ritual’s fucking dumb. I’m never doing that again.”

* * *

Dream doesn’t know why he’s hiding George from Sapnap, his own best friend of almost ten years. 

Sure, Sapnap might not be the most responsible, nor he is the most mature out of his group of friends, but he knows that he can rely on Sapnap for literally everything. They had practically known each other since kindergarten, shared both sad and happy moments together, and have practically fostered a bond that will never break.

So why does Dream feel like hiding George? Why does Dream feel like Sapnap doesn’t deserve to know about George, that George is his dirty little secret?

Dream groans and slams his head on his keyboard, smashing random keys that form incoherent sentences on his Google Docs but he’s too tired to care, for the only thought that’s haunting him for the past few days are glowing bodies and a small, bright smile.

He decides that, as selfish as it seems, George shall be his and _his_ secret only, even if it’s for a few days.

* * *

“You’re back,” George hums, appearing on Dream’s right as soon as the latter set foot onto the mansion. “Did you miss me?”

The only response that George receives is an eyeroll. 

“So, what brings you here today?”

There’s a million questions swarming in Dream’s head, some louder than others. While he doesn’t appreciate the fact that George has barged in and taken up a big part of his life (till the point that even Sapnap notices that Dream is off), there’s a small part in his heart that’s occupied by a translucent boy.

Clearing his throat, he shakes the thoughts from his head as he settles down on the floor. The creaks don’t scare him as much anymore, and although the house still looks mildly terrifying from the outside at three in the morning, the thought of someone inside is enough for his curiosity to overcome his cowardice. 

So here he is, with the same backpack passing by the same graffiti as he enters the door across the master bedroom. 

Somehow, he knows George is there, and he’s not disappointed when he sees a glow paint the corners of the room. 

“Hello, George.” The name feels foreign to his tongue, but yet Dream can taste the slight familiarity in the way his tongue curls around the ‘r’ and the weight that lifts off as the word is muttered from his mouth. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

George’s shoulders tense up, his smile slightly frozen as he eyes Dream warily, lips stretched into a thin line again as he walks (floats?) closer to Dream. Leaning down, Dream’s eyes widen at their close proximity and the way that he can feel George’s icy presence. 

They stare into each other’s eyes for a beat too long.

“Oh, Dream,” George starts, hazel eyes still searching for something in Dream’s gaze as his voice dips. “And I thought you were different.”

It’s the way George is dragging a finger along Dream’s jaw, cold sensations threatening to send a shiver down the spine as Dream’s brain short circuits once again. It’s the way George has uttered his name, as if it’s both a sin and a prayer and Dream just craves _more_ and _more_ and he wants to hear it come out of the other’s mouth again. It’s the way George’s stare is burning into his own and his nose is dangerously close to his and Dream swears that the ghost can hear his heart pound, hear his heart beat frantically as it lurches up to his throat.

It’s the way Dream has been mesmerised by George’s presence that he’s letting his guard down so easily, so carelessly, and if it were an evil spirit Dream had encountered he’d be _dead_.

“And I thought you were different.”

Dream blinks, and George is gone.

* * *

“Hey, are you okay?” Sapnap asks one day, brown eyes boring straight into Dream as the latter yawns for the third time in a row. “You look… awfully tired nowadays.”

Dream can’t help but feel guilt rise up once again, the same guilt that he feels when he lies to his parents, the same guilt when he knows he has done something he shouldn’t. It’s the same feeling that bubbles uncomfortably at the bottom of his stomach, the same feeling that evolves as vines wrapping around his heart and it _squeezes_ until all he can do is gasp for air as he begs for mercy.

He swallows, and pushes it down before it can go any further, and gives Sapnap a smile that’s probably too wide to be convincing. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

The pointed look that Sapnap sends him is enough to tell Dream that he isn’t buying it. “What time have you been sleeping?”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that for the past few nights, he has spent hours and hours trying to recreate the fucking salt circle, trying to resummon George and he swears he’s addicted on some shit because there’s no way he’s this obsessed over a ghost with a cold personality and even colder looks, but here he is. He doesn't have the heart to tell Sapnap that as the sun rises, and the flames of the candles blow out while shadows slowly fade away he can feel his heart drop in disappointment at the thought of not seeing his ghost friend. 

He doesn’t have the heart to tell Sapnap the truth because a selfish, selfish part of him wants to keep George to himself, wants to keep George as his dirty little secret. 

So he swallows, and with a tired smile, slams his head back down on the desk again and falls asleep seconds later.

* * *

It’s the seventh night in a row when his persistence pays off. 

“You do realise that you don’t have to do that… salt thing, right?” George appears beside him, eyes glancing at the packet of salt in Dream’s hand. “You don’t need to do some stupid ritual shit.”

Dream doesn’t speak, letting George’s words settle for a moment as silence washes over them, the only sound coming from the rustling of leaves and the chirps of crickets and cicadas. He clears his throat. “Why didn’t you come?”

“To?”

“Why didn’t you come when I- I summoned you?” Dream can hear his voice shaking, and he hates how he sounds so unstable and weak. “You literally fucking ignored me for the past few days.”

“You can say that I _ghosted_ you-”

“It’s not fucking funny!”

The outburst shocks Dream himself, but George seems unfazed by it as he stares at the blond with an amused look. Within a fraction of seconds, George has closed the distance between them, his fingers holding Dream’s jaw firmly as his thumb strokes his cheek.

When Dream reaches out to touch him, he fazes through him completely. 

“What-”

“Oh, darling,” George coos, eyes soft as he takes in Dream’s features, from the way his green eyes seem to have specks of gold in them to his constellation-like freckles that dots his cheeks. “I’m a ghost. You can’t touch me, but I can to you.”

In some sort of a sick, power move, George dips his mouth so that it’s close to Dream’s throat, lips hovering over the skin and Dream almost stops _breathing_. “George, please-”

And what are they, even? What do they belong in, when one is a ghost and the other is a human, when they’re both separated by the thin line of life and death? In a way, Dream has found comfort in his ghost, has found a place in that stupid haunted mansion that he wouldn’t even dare to enter just a few years ago. And while George is teasing him, fingers lingering in places that Dream is too sensitive in and lips too close such that it lights his skin on fire despite his cold, icy touches, Dream wonders if this means anything to him at all.

Dream wonders if _he_ means anything to George at all.

“George-”

“I was eighteen when I died,” George mumbles, finally pressing his lips against Dream’s throat and moving it in such a way that it rips a whine from the latter. “In this same house, in the same room that you found me in.”

And Dream swears he’s seeing stars from how George has found all his weakest points and attacking it, because soon there’s a shiver down his spine and he’s sure he’s going to fall to the ground if not for George’s firm grip around his shoulders. “Wh- what happened?”

George pulls back, and the cold air that replaces the spot causes Dream to squirm. With sad eyes and a smile, he answers. “Carbon monoxide leak. Killed all of us.”

“Wh-”

“My family.” There seems to be multiple eyes on the both of them right now, observing their every move, watching as George leans back in to attach his lips back onto Dream’s jaw and all the other can do is to sit there and _let him_. “My sister, my father, and my mother. They called it a tragedy.”

“Your parents-”

George moves on to another spot, relishing in the way Dream is gasping underneath his touch and even has the audacity to _smirk_ as he places a gentle kiss on Dream’s adam's apple. “They’ve all moved on. To where, I have no idea.”

Dream swallows, eyes lingering on the outline of George’s body, suppressing a frustrated groan when all he touches is nothing but air and the only way he can feel George is when the other wants him to. It’s unfair, but who’s to say Dream doesn’t love it?

In a sick and twisted way, he’s fucking addicted to it. 

“Why are you still here?”

George pauses, pulling away as Dream stumbles, hands reaching out to grab at George but the other doesn’t even flinch when they go through his body. “Because I still have unfinished business to settle.”

And with that, George disappears once again, leaving behind phantom touches that imprint themselves onto Dream’s skin and ghosts of lips that feel almost too good to be true.

* * *

What are they?

What are Dream and George? Teetering on the edge of life, dancing with the ghosts of what’s right and wrong as the shadows serve as curious onlookers of their relationship. The thrill of toying with an unstoppable force is tempting, and from the looks of it, the both of them have caved in.

But what are they, ultimately? In the end, George is a ghost and Dream is a human, and life should not play with death because it throws the universe off-balance, catches the universe off guard that it’ll disrupt some sort of an established balance and rule.

Though, how can you resist when it’s so tempting? How can you resist when Death is knocking at Life’s door and inviting her to dance under the moonlight, his scythe glinting almost dangerously while Life graciously slots herself in between Death’s arms? How can you resist the beauty and the urge of the unknown, of whatever’s forbidden. Just like how Adam and Eve couldn’t resist the temptations of the Forbidden Fruit, Dream and George can’t resist the temptations of each other.

Death and Life dances with each other to a tune no one else knows.

So ultimately, what are they?

* * *

“Who are you going to bring to prom?” 

Dream looks up at Sapnap, slightly confused before he realises that the event is literally happening in a few days. Groaning, he twirls his pencil, his mind blanking out as several names swirl in his head, though only one jumps out at him.

The aforementioned doesn’t even go to this school. Hell, he’s not even breathing, for god’s sake.

“You haven’t had anyone, have you?” Sapnap squints, ever the caring and loving friend that Dream adores. “God, Dream, and here I am thinking you were prepared.”

But how could he? How could he think of anyone else when there’s a pair of cold hands on him and colder lips on his neck? How could he have anyone else on his mind when words with double meanings uttered by a certain someone repeats themselves in his head every night like a mantra? How could he even spare a glance at anyone else when all he wants is to return to his secret- his secret-

His secret what?

“It’s no big deal.” Dream waves him off, ignoring Sapnap’s offended scoff. “Literally, you can bring Karl with you and when you two sneak off to somewhere more private, I’ll call a cab and take myself home.”

And he’ll go back to a certain someone.

Sapnap splutters, his eyes wide as saucers and cheeks rosy pink. “N- no- oh my god, I hate you so fucking much, Dream. You know what? I’m gonna matchmake you with someone.”

Dream laughs, and twirls his pencil again.

* * *

Sapnap has really found someone for him.

When the former cracks the news over breaktime, Dream hadn’t believed it at first. Not that he doesn’t trust Sapnap in his networking (really, Sapnap knows _everyone_ , you’d be surprised), but the fact that the other had actually put in effort to try and get Dream a date and-

And when he spills the news, gaze serious and voice lack of humour, Dream feels himself dying a little inside.

“I _told_ you, I don’t need a partner!” Dream throws his hands up, exasperated, and he’s so annoyed at the fact that he’s going to have to entertain someone for the entire night before he can go back to someone who has stolen his heart. “C’mon, Sap, you know me well enough. Can’t you just-”

Sapnap bites on his lip, frowning slightly and Dream feels just a tiny bit of guilt for shutting him down that quickly. “Please? Just for a night? They’re really desperate for someone too, and I promise they’re okay.”

Frankly, Dream doesn’t know why he still keeps Sapnap around. Rolling his eyes, he smacks the back of Sapnap’s head. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Fine,” he caves in, and Sapnap gives him a big, bright smile that can almost rival the sun. “I’ll go. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“You won’t regret it.”

Dream doubts so, but he swallows the complaint as he bites down on his chicken sandwich.

* * *

“Have you ever learnt how to slow dance?” 

The ghost beside him perks up slightly in interest, his head tilting to the side as he watches Dream in curiosity, motioning for him to continue. 

“I have prom coming in a day or two,” Dream twiddles with his thumbs, biting on the inside of his cheek as he watches the other sit up, “and I haven’t learnt how to even dip or whatever you call that.”

“I can teach you if you want.”

Dream glances over at the boy, who’s already standing up and offering a hand. Sighing, he takes it, and even though George has touched him multiple times he’s still not used to the icy sensations that shoot through his nerves. He lets a small, bashful smile as the other leads him to the middle of the room.

“So,” George mumbles, taking Dream’s left hand in his and placing it on his own waist, “after inviting them to dance, you wanna place their hand on your waist, while you put yours on their shoulder.”

Dream follows George’s instructions, letting his hand rest on where George has placed it as he feels George’s hand on his shoulder. They’re unbelievably close right now, and although they’ve had a few more… heated sessions, Dream still can’t help but blush slightly when he looks at George.

“And-” 

With a shy smile, George slips his left hand into Dream’s right and laces their fingers together, pulling Dream towards him. Dream looks at their entwined hands, at how their fingers slot between each other so easily, as if they’re made for each other, and looks back at George again.

He swears the other can hear his heartbeat from how close they are.

“Hello,” Dream whispers.

And George smiles back. “Hi.”

They let themselves enjoy each other’s presence for a moment as cicadas and crickets sing a symphony outside. The moon acts as a source of light as she shines into the room, but George, in a way, is brighter and livelier than she ever will be. The stars twinkle, but they pale in comparison to George’s eyes.

The world dulls when you have the entire universe in front of you.

“Follow my steps carefully.”

Looking down, Dream bites on his lip in anxiety as he shuffles and focuses on the way George’s feet move. A small step to the side, then forward, then side, then backwards, then-

Then he looks up and sees George looking back at him with what he can describe as all the love and adoration in the entire world.

His heart skips a beat, butterflies in his stomach fluttering furiously as they threaten to burst out into dances to their own rhythms, but he stomps them down before they can even try to ruin the moment. He can feel the way his cheeks are burning right now, and when George gives him a proud smile, he swears he’s this close to just combusting.

How can someone make him feel so… at _home_?

“You got this.”

With George’s encouragement, Dream puts more confidence in himself, straightening his back slightly and focusing on the way George’s hand feels cold yet familiar against his warm palm, on the way that his shadow is dancing alone in the background as the reminder that George is ethereal slips into his mind.

There’s just something hauntingly beautiful about dancing with a certain ghost in a certain haunted mansion.

George laughs, and it seems to make the room less _empty_ from how cheery he sounds like. The room seems to be brighter, livelier, as the both of them sway to a melody that the leaves outside makes up on the spot. The creaking of the floorboard doesn’t scare him anymore, and he wonders if George is the reason for it, the reason that squeaking doors and shattered windows make him think of home.

“Here’s the best part,” George smirks, and before Dream knows it, he’s bending backwards and falling behind as George fucking _dips_ him.

Panic strikes his chest as he loses balance slightly, arms almost flailing but then he feels George’s strong and firm arm around his waist and protecting him, and his heart tames a little. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins right now, causing electricity to crackle with every touch that George is initiating, their bodies pressed against each other. 

And he’s so fucking smitten.

“You make me feel alive,” George admits, a chilly breath ghosting Dream’s ear as he brushes his lips against Dream’s earlobe. “You make me feel like I’m back, like I’m whole again.”

Fingers brush against each other, and when George pulls Dream back up, they’re staring into each other’s eyes. 

“You make me feel loved.”

The words fall out of Dream’s mouth before he can stop him. “Kiss me.”

“Dream-”

“George,” he says, this time with more reassurance as he leans in closer. “Kiss me.”

And so George does.

When their lips meet, it’s cold and hot at the same time, polar opposites that have created a spark as Dream’s heart beats faster and faster. Tilting his head, he gives more access to George, letting the other explore him as much as possible as he untangles their hands to reach up to the back of George’s neck. As he runs his hand through the other’s hair, he pulls slightly at them, whimpering slightly as George _pushes_ against him, a growl ripping through his throat and Dream can feel his knees buckle.

He’s falling apart, and he’s falling _fast_.

George licks his lips, and he opens his mouth, letting George take whatever he wants, take whatever he needs from Dream because he’s so, so in love with a boy he can’t have so he lets the other _take_ him while they can still last. Teeth clash slightly and noses bump into each other awkwardly, but all that Dream can think of is how George tastes like honey and chocolate mixed together and the tug of his fingers on the front of his shirt feels like safety.

When they pull apart, something isn’t right.

“George…” Dream steps back, eyes widening in realisation. “George, you’re fading.”

The halo that seems to surround George is a little dimmer, and when George raises up his hand, Dream can almost see right _through_ him. Desperate, he tries to reach out and grab their hands together-

Only for him to go through George.

“No-” Dream mumbles, eyes flicking between invisible fingers and a sad smile as he lunges forward to try and feel the icy grip of George, the familiar cold air that surrounds him but to his horror, there’s _nothing_ anymore. “No, don’t- George, don’t leave me.”

He feels his vision blur, and soon, he’s crying. Wiping away his tears, George places another kiss on Dream’s lips.

Dream presses against it, drinking it in and he’s crying, he’s shaking and crying against George but the other only kisses him firmer, kisses him with as much ferocity as he can manage while he’s slowly disappearing. 

“Dream, I need you to close your eyes.”

“I don’t-”

_“Please.”_

And it’s the way George begs him to say it, his one last wish, that Dream begrudgingly obeys. He tries to memorise every single touch, every single kiss and every single part of him that George has touched, that George has blessed him and he tries to imprint it in his memory the way George laughs and the way George pronounces his ‘r’s.

“George-”

“You make me feel alive,” George whispers. “And though I’ll be gone, I’ll still be here.”

_“You’re a good kind of different.”_

Dream chokes down a sob as a gentle finger caresses his cheek, and he’s pressing himself against George’s touch, grasping at straws before he loses George completely. “What do you mean? How would I know?”

_“And I thought you were different.”_

“I am in the wind and in your heart,” George mumbles, “and I’ll be in your memory.”

One final kiss is pressed against Dream’s lips, and he savours it, savours the way it makes him feel butterflies and happiness, makes him giddy as if he’s experiencing his first love again. He savours it like a thirsty man finding water in a desert, as if George has unlocked the secrets of the universe and has pulled prayers from his mouth and he _lets_ George do whatever he wants.

When he pulls away, Dream opens his eyes.

Sunlight illuminates the spot where George used to stand.

* * *

Dream never shows up for prom.

Sapnap, being as confused and supportive as ever, decides to check in on his friend after he apologised to Dream’s date. Dropping off his drunk friends, he slows his car to a stop in front of Dream’s house, making a dash to Dream’s front porch as he tries to shield himself from the rain.

Pressing the doorbell, Sapnap checks his phone over and over again, rereading the message that he has sent Dream. Slightly annoyed and frustrated, he repeats his actions, until he hears the small click of the lock and the twist of the doorknob.

“Dream-”

God, Dream is a mess: his dirty blonde hair is disheveled, oily and sticking up as if he hasn’t been showering for the past few months. There are dark, heavy bags under his eyes, and his cheeks lack colour that Sapnap wonders if he has even slept at all. If Sapnap had paid closer attention, he’d catch a waft of the sour smell that has emerged due to the lack of personal care.

Beratement dies at the tip of Sapnap’s tongue as he lets himself in. Dream shuts the door.

“What happened?”

Dream glances up. “Do you really want to know?”

“Uh, yeah?” Sapnap frowns. “What’s up with you? You’ve been acting all weird ever since-” Waving his hands around, he tries to grab at words in the air. “-since the ritual shit. Did it-”

Dream’s chuckles are hollow. For once, Sapnap is scared. 

“I can tell you the entire story, Sappy. But first, follow me.”

Sapnap’s heart thumps against his chest as he freezes in terror, following his best friend closely behind as he’s led to Dream’s bedroom. Upon opening the door, his eyes widen at the sight of newspaper and red strings everywhere, boxes of thumbtacks spilling from containers. Dream seems unfazed, instead strolling to the window.

He picks up an article.

**_‘Teen kills his lover: a twisted Romeo and Juliet tale'_ **

“So, Sapnap-”

There’s someone else with them. Sapnap can feel it.

Thunder crackles in the background. 

“Do you remember the story about how a boy fell in love with a ghost, across from him and three houses to the left?”

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter: @ISLE0FDREAM
> 
> yell at me there idk


End file.
